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Life Gets In

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Life gets in.

It is not always beautiful, but it knows that.  It cannot be hurt by your words, but it does not stop you from speaking.  It will not be surprised by your actions, right or wrong, and it will encourage you to be stupid, or gloriously brilliant.

It is rarely fair.  It does not ask for your permission.  It goes where it is not invited, and it does not tell you why.

It blows you back, like wind off the sea in winter.  It burns you, like the desert sun on bare skin.  It falls from the sky, like rain. 

It grows under the hedges you plant to keep it out.  It bursts forth, one day like weeds, the next, like wildflowers.  It shows you its colors, and it does not judge your choices of them. 

Only the choices you do not make, after life gets in.

 

© Copyright 2017 William S. Friday

To Recapture My Humanity

Clouds at LAX

Clouds at LAX

 

I sit, penned in, like a singular head of cattle.

Cement and wood and stucco form my enclosure, and the white of clouds foregrounding the blue of open sky, not yet awash with the pastels of another setting sun.

Until I hear, as if for the first time, the wind, in the sound of a lover’s wincing pleasure, between rough slats of painted pine behind my head.

It is here that I sit and sip my morning coffee, and try, for just this moment, to recapture my humanity.

And in these words, succeed.

© Copyright 2015 Bill Friday

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